


hold my hand

by kettsinn



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Cute, F/F, Femslash February, Gender or Sex Swap, Harry Potter Next Generation, Rule 63
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:55:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23376499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kettsinn/pseuds/kettsinn
Summary: Five times Rose Weasley touched another girl's hand (accidentally and on purpose).
Relationships: Rose Weasley/Original Female Character(s), Scorpius Malfoy/Rose Weasley
Kudos: 3





	hold my hand

**i. _First Year_ , September**

The journey to Hogwarts is just as thrilling and dull as she thought it would be. Hugo had sat beside her for the first half an hour – until she had at least spoken to the other three people in the carriage – and then he’d made a polite comment to a rather sour-faced boy in jeans before slipping out of the compartment and sneaking off to see his own friends. The rat. Well, Rose hadn’t been that interested in spending more time with him, although it would have been nice to have an ally for the first three hours of her time as a witch. 

The train passes through valleys of surest green, curling like a lazy snake round lakes and lochs and viaducts. A fifth year comes and introduces herself to them – her badge flashes in the weakening sunlight and shows she’s a Prefect. Rose remembers nothing about the conversation other than how the girl’s bright teeth had glinted when she laughed and how pretty her freckles had looked against her pale skin. 

A hushed conversation begins between two of the other first years, each wondering which house they will be in. The loud boy voices the fear that he will be sorted into Slytherin – which makes Rose want to roll her eyes and cuss – and the other murmurs something about colour schemes in response. For herself, Rose knows she will be in Gryffindor. Both her parents were and all her father’s family were before that, so she wastes no time joining in the speculation. 

She finds herself daydreaming about the Prefect girl. There is something beautiful about her, about most girls really, that just makes all the boys she’s ever met seem bland and uninteresting. Her Uncle Charlie has a boyfriend, so Rose is sure there must be girls in the world who have girlfriends. It’s a frightening, delicious idea that makes her want to rub her thighs together and blush. If only she could be one of those girls. 

The door slides open with a thud to reveal the Prefect again. Her hair falls like a blonde waterfall past her shoulders and Rose feels something uncurl in her stomach. 

‘Time to get changed, first years. We’re almost home.’ She smiles, warm and friendly. ‘Hm? Yes, just put your robes over the top.’ 

When the corner of Rose’s robe gets caught on her arm, the Prefect pulls softly at the garment until it settles into place on her shoulders. 

‘Thank you,’ Rose murmurs. ‘You’re kind.’ 

‘No problem. My name is McCulloh,’ the Prefect says, holding out a slim hand for Rose to shake. ‘Prefect for Hufflepuff.’ 

Rose opens her mouth to say something in response, but her throat is so dry that she ends up just standing there and swallowing like a fish. ‘Um. Hello?’ 

The press of McCulloh’s smooth, long fingers against the inside of her wrist is delightful. A cool sensation seems to flow up Rose’s arm from where their palms are joined, rushing all the way up to her chest and down again. Rose smiles winningly at the woman. 

‘Well,’ McCulloh says, humour in her voice. She withdraws her hand and nods to the rest of the first years. ‘Nice to meet you all. When the train stops, wait until one of us comes around before leaving your compartment, alright?’ 

‘Sure,’ the loud boy agrees. He shoots Rose a funny look and takes a seat further away from her than before once McCulloh leaves. ‘Oi, you. Close the door.’ 

‘And your mouth,’ says a girl wearing enormous glasses. ‘Falling in love, are you?’ 

Rose glares at her, trying to ignore the hot flush spreading across her cheeks. ‘Shut up.' 

‘Leave her be,’ says the other lad. He shuffles back onto his seat, reaching for the bag he stashed beneath his seat. ‘I’ve brought... ah. Anyone want to play exploding snap?’ 

**ii. _Second Year_** **,** **January**

Binns is the most boring potato ever to exist and the fact that he’s been dumped back on the mortal realm is an incredible insult and curse to every student ever to be afflicted with his abysmal teaching. Rose suspects that being ripped apart on a medieval rack might be more pleasant than suffering through her bi-weekly History of Magic lessons. 

Binn’s anecdote about the vampire uprising in the fifth century drones on and on and on and on. (Rose thinks that’s the focus for this week’s epic torment, but it’s like her ears stop working as soon as her bum hits the chair. He could be waffling on about anything.) 

Lily shifts in the seat beside her, twirling a strand of hair through her fingers, and scratches her quill against the oak of their desk. Even Lily can't stand the man. Rose guesses that she is trying to draw a hippogriff, but the monster looks more like a petulant mermaid made a late-night mistake with a mandrake. 

Rose usually manages to fill up the (agonising) torment that is History of Magic by catching up on her correspondence. They learnt about ‘esemessess’ and ‘texts’ in Muggle Studies last week and, to be honest, that sounds like a better way of sending updates on her life. Letter writing is the most unnecessary evil of the wizarding world. Maybe Dad could convince Uncle Fred to charm her a mobile phone that would work in Hogwarts? 

_Something to add at the bottom of the letter,_ Rose thinks and winces as a poorly flown paper swan careens into her head. She shoots a wretched look at the Slytherins giggling nearer the back of the classroom and rubs the sore curve of her ear. Bastards. 

Her piece of parchment has been contorted into a rather-wretched looking scrap by the time she returns to writing. It takes a moment to persuade her fingers to unclench from their death-grip on her quill, then she smoothes the crumpled edges and leans forward to write.

_Dad,_

_Thanks for sending the sweets and_ _dung bombs_ _! Sorely needed since the passageway behind Belinda the Garbled-Nose Warthog caved in last week. (I don’t have a death wish - why would I tell Mum about the_ _dung bombs_ _? I’m not ~~Hugo~~ an idiot.) _

_Hogwarts is great etc. Tell Mum I am managing to spend enough time away from Quidditch in order to complete all educational tasks. Also – and I’m sure you can find a more tactful way to phrase this - let her know that I am going to continue to volunteer for_ _Thestral_ _duty, ~~especially~~ even if she disapproves_. 

_Nothing new to report. ~~History of Magic makes me want to slowly peel the skin from my bones and melt the shreds down until I can inject the poison into my veins and start to die all over again~~ School is the same as ever._

Lily mumbles something that sounds like, ‘This is so fucking boring, Rose,’ and lets out a frustrated sigh that makes her sound like a deflating whoopee cushion. The Hufflepuff in front of them whips his head around and pointedly presses a finger against his lips. Merlin knows why he thinks Binns is worth listening to. 

‘I know,’ Rose responds. 

_Give my love to the family and give the garden gnomes a kick for me. (I still have that bruise from where one of them tried to ‘kiss’ my leg last week)._

_Love,_ _Rose xxx_

 _P.S. Please send me Uncle Fred’s new address asap - he moved to a new flat over Summer?_

‘Urgh.’ Lily shifts in her seat and lets out another impatient sigh. Her eyes flit down to Rose’s letter. ‘Oh, are you writing to Uncle Ron? Send him my love.’ 

‘No. Write your own letters, you lazy sod. Ones that you can fill with as much drivel and familial love as takes your fancy.’ 

Lily contorts her mouth into a gnarled expression that almost looks like a pout, but actually makes her look like a hinkypunk with a collapsed jaw. ‘Please?’ 

_‘No_ , Lily. And you look like a hinkypunk victim when you do that’ - here, Rose waves her quill in an encompassing circle of eight to indicate the happenings on Lily’s face - ‘so please just stop to whatever that is.’ 

‘Please! It would just be a small ‘hello, how are you, kiss your wife for me’ bit! And you know that my most precious sentiments of familial love are kept for you. My cousin-y passions for you are eternal and undeniable flames of -’ 

The Hufflepuff in front of them turns around ferociously, his face flushed bright with blotchy rage. ‘Be quiet!’ He hisses and, without pause, whirls himself back towards the front of the room and continues to listen attentively to Binns. 

_Nutter_ , Rose thinks wryly, and rubs the back of her neck in an effort to soothe herself. 

Lily rolls her eyes, then stage whispers: ‘Do you want to gatecrash the Gryffindor's Oktoberfest party tonight?’ 

‘With a Ravenclaw who just used the word ‘cousin-y’? No.’ 

‘Urgh,’ Lily grumps. She throws her quill down with a clatter so hard that Rose winces on behalf of the Hufflepuff boy and they both watch it roll onto the floor with a click-clack. Lily pushes her hands against the desk to rock back on her stool and glares. ‘For someone who’s family is populated by mischief makers, you are disappointingly boring.’ 

‘It is what it is.’ Rose folds her letter and pens her parent’s address on the front. She lines it up neatly with the desk corner, then looks pointedly at the floor. ‘You going to pick that up?’ 

Lily shrugs, petulantly. 

With a sigh, Rose stands up and squats down, stretching her fingers to reach for the owl feather. The quill rolls over and over to the side, further out of reach, and she lets out a huff of air. If she moves any further into the aisle, Binns will see her and then she’ll have another detention. Mum will be extremely disappointed, which is all quite hypocritical really because - 

A shoe-clad foot nudges the quill in Rose’s direction and her fingers close around the pen triumphantly. She grins and looks up to see Scorpia Malfoy, staring soberly down at Rose as she scrabbles on the floor for a quill that has seen better days. It wasn’t even the first time this had happened. 

‘Thanks,’ Rose whispers. 

Malfoy hums and the noise has a disapproving tone that sets Rose’s teeth on edge. It wasn’t like she spent a lot of time dropping things or picking them up. There was nothing that made History of Magic more manageable than a distraction, and if that meant Rose had to briefly crawl about on the stone floor then so be it. 

‘Sure,’ Malfoy whispers. ‘Can I have my foot back?’ 

Rose feels herself turn a bright, cruel red when she realises that she has been holding the quill against the leather of Malfoy’s pumps in a way that looks all too like she has been holding on to Malfoy’s foot. She lets go, shuffling backwards with a speed that carries no subtlety. 

Lily, the utter bastard, is shaking with laughter by the time Rose has slid back onto her stool. 

‘You don’t even deserve this,’ Rose hisses, slapping the quill on top of Lily’s notes. ‘That’s the last time I do you a favour.’ 

**iii. _Third Year_ , December**

‘Woooow,’ Rose whispers, feeling overwhelmed and a tad breathless. Resisting the urge to press her nose up against the glass, she stares, eyes wide, at the sharp-nosed woman at the desk. ‘Could you, erm, could you repeat that please?’

Sharp Nose’s teeth gnash around the floss of her chewing gum, glaring at Rose for a moment, before biting out, ‘We have thirteen flavours of popcorn today. They are cinnamon apple, cheese, vinegar, sugar, chili caramel, enchilada, peanut butter –‘

Eyes averted, Rose leans closer to Pia and mutters, ‘Enchilada?’

Pia smirks. 

A fleshy bubble of gum snaps behind the pane of glass. ‘- or plain.’

When Rose pauses for too long again, Sharp Nose looks at her with a glare that could cut through stone. Time to make a choice. Rose falls back on the time-honoured tradition of picking whichever flavour came last. ‘Plain would be perfection, thanks.’

Rose clicks her Muggle money pieces onto the counter and smiles in a way that usually gets her out of trouble. Pia lets out an abrupt laugh that turns quickly into a cough when Sharp Nose turns her attention on her. 

‘Nothing for me, thank you.’ 

With a curt nod, Sharp Nose whips her brunette bob around to scoop popcorn out of the machine. Rose juggles her purse back into her satchel and wonders whether she should have bought food if Pia isn’t having any. She opens her mouth to announce that they should share the popcorn when the attendant thrusts the bag towards Rose and winces at her in what seems to be a smile. 

‘Thanks,’ Rose says, turning to Pia. ‘Want some?’ 

Pia shakes her head and leads her towards a flight of metal stairs. 

_‘Plain would be perfection, thanks_ ,’ Pia echoes, voice lilting in a tease. ‘Honestly, Weasley, pull the stick out.’ 

‘Hey!’ Rose feels her cheeks grow warm. ‘What’s so wrong with plain? I’m sure you’ll thank me as soon as you get hungry.’ 

Malfoy rolls her eyes and lets out a tingling laugh. Beneath the girls’ unfortunate penchant for tartan dress robes and mustard-yellow shoes, there lies a soft charm that is far too debutante for someone so unpopular. 

The door to the cinema is studded with metal bolts and Rose thinks vaguely that the door wouldn’t look amiss in a low-budget torture chamber. When Pia asked her out – well, asked Rose if she would like to see how the Muggles have made The Hobbit into a film – Rose had no idea that she was so familiar with the Muggle world. The way Pia knows how to interact with Muggles, what to say and what to wear, is so at odds with the impression Rose had formed from her Dad’s stories about the Malfoys that she feels unbalanced and off beat. Pia is a pleasant curiosity that shakes up the blandness of her daily life. 

All Rose’s musings on chiming laughs and oddities abandon ship, however, when the wooden door to the cinema swings open and reveals its interior. Plasterwork spreads across the ceiling in whorls of flowers and lace patterns, curving around light fixtures and cracked borders. A great sheet of silver fabric hangs down from the stage rafters, dwarfing the small theater and the crowd of people who have crammed themselves into the box stalls. 

It is _beautiful_. 

‘Wow,’ Rose murmurs. ‘I can see why you like it.’ 

'You really need to stop saying that,’ Pia snorts, but there’s a smile forming at the corners of her mouth. The wry smile she usually wears has been replaced with something more genuine and almost fond. ‘Shall we?’ 

A more sensible part of Rose knows that this wasn’t a date, that it is extremely unlikely that Pia feels the same rush of joy in her veins whenever she looks at Rose, but... it is hard to remind herself of that when Pia looks at her like that. Her eyes are soft and warm when she holds out her hand to Rose and nods in the direction of the circle seats. 

Rose feels the impulse to lean forward and press her lips against the smooth, plumpness of Pia’s mouth like a need. Instead, she lets Pia guide her to their seats and tries to ignore the loud beating of her heart when their fingers slide against one another. 

When Rose had boarded the Hogwarts Express for the first time, her Dad had expertly shuffled her away from Mum and ordered Rose to treat the entire Malfoy family with an active caution. Would he consider it a betrayal of confidence if she went to the cinema with one of them? Rose reckons that you can treat someone with caution while you sit beside them and cry over the Battle of the Five Armies. You can treat someone with caution while you both share strangely mutual feelings for Thorin Oakenshield in the same space. For sure. 

Pia strides up the raised platform and they shuffle past a few nattering teenagers sat beside a pair cooing mush like “smoochies” and “love crumpet” and “little mushywushy” at each other. They reach two empty seats and Pia lets go of Rose’s hand. The loss of touch feels like a rejection of some sorts, even though it shouldn’t because it didn’t mean anything. 

An awkwardness settles between them once they’ve sat down, arranging their coats and bags around on nearby chairs. Rose clears her throat. ‘Did you say that they made a film of The Lord of the Rings as well?’ 

Pia’s grins, her face so bright that something throbs inside Rose. ‘They made _three_ films.’ 

Half-way through an enthusiastic re-telling of the plot to the first film from Pia, the lights begin to dim. Roses hears her excited whisper rise from the murky space beside her ear, ‘This is it! It’s starting!’ 

The glow from the screen shines off Pia’s sharp cheekbones and bright eyes, turning her into a portrait of vivid contrasts. Rose swallows and turns to the screen, scrunching the fabric of her skirt in hands. ‘Yeah. Wow.’ 

**iv. _Third Year_ , May**

After a never-ending week of rain, the sky clears. Exams begin in two weeks and Rose is being quite honest about the fact that she has neither the willpower nor the focus to revise for them over the weekend. She finds herself daydreaming when she should be writing and fantasising about Pia’s mouth whenever she should be reading. Her dreams are filled with pastel fantasies of them eating at Madame Puddifoot’s Tea Shop and giggling, or of them cycling along the coast near Shell House and shrieking with delight, or (once) of Pia licking strawberry juice off the delicate inside of her wrists.

It’s impossible to sit indoors on a day made for pleasure. Rose, in true Gryffindor fashion, marches through the castle until she locates Pia and then insists that they sit beneath one of the oak trees that line the shady bank of the Lake. The breeze is fresh, the sky is bright and her heart beats in double time whenever she catches Pia looking her way.

‘I really like you,’ Rose starts, unable to keep the thought to herself any longer. ‘ _Like_ like you.’

Pia raises one disbelieving eyebrow in true Malfoy fashion. She glances up at Rose from where she is lying on the grass, then looks across the water and smirks. ‘Like you _like_ liked Jasmine Greegers two weeks ago or…’

‘Hey!’ Rose nudges her playfully. ‘That was a passing _fling_ , as you well know, and it was mostly centred on the fact that Jasmine had the notes for the Astronomy exam.’

‘True,’ Pia says dryly, eyes sparking with mirth. ‘It seemed very mercenary at the time.’

Rose nods, then shifts nervously. ‘Yes. Well. As I was saying, I just… I love spending time with you, and I think we have a great time together. You’re very easy on the eyes –’

‘Oh, am I?’

‘You know what you look like. You’re _very_ easy on the eyes. Smart, too. I’ve loved sneaking off to the cinema with you for the past few months. But,’ Rose pauses. She knows what she wants to say, knows how she feels about hiding what they are, but it’s difficult to word it properly. ‘But I don’t want to sneak around with you anymore. I want people to know about us. I want you to be my girlfriend.’

‘Oh,’ Pia says, swallowing. Her eyes are so wide that she looks like a deer trapped in headlights – frozen and unable to move in any direction. ‘Oh.’

Rose feels nausea rise in her throat. If the answer was a profound yes, surely Pia would have said it. Her hesitation speaks volumes. Rose nods once, then twice, blinking water out of her eyes. ‘Oh. I understand.’

‘No, I’m not sure that you do.’ Pia looks down at her hands, flexing her fingers one by one as though she needs something other than Rose to focus on for a moment. ‘I really like you too. I’ve loved going out with you and when we… you know. It was amazing.’

Rose looks up at her, smiling weakly. ‘Okay. What’s the problem, then?’

‘I’m not as brave as you. I don’t know if I can be _out_ at Hogwarts.’

‘Because of your family?’

‘No,’ Pia says after a moment’s pause. She shrugs. ‘No, not at all. The truth is… I suppose, the truth is that I don’t want to end up with no friends once you get bored of me.’

Rose snorts, incredulous. ‘Who says I am going to get bored of you?’

‘Let’s just say that I have a prediction.’

‘You cynical sod,’ Rose says, unwilling to laugh when Pia looks so serious about the matter. ‘What if we are amazing together? Or incredible? I might never be bored of you.’

Pia tugs at the grass beneath her, looking uncomfortably self-conscious for the first time since Rose has known her. Then she offers Rose a faint smile. ‘I suppose it’s just as likely that I get bored of you first.’

Her attempt at humour is so patently Pia that Rose can’t help but chuckle. ‘So, is that a yes? Will you be my girlfriend?’

‘Yes,’ Pia says, squeezing Rose’s hand and pulling it onto her lap. Her grip is warm and firm, certain in a way that her mind is not. ‘I’ll be your girlfriend.’

**v** **.** **_Fourth_ ** **_Year,_ ** **Christmas Day**

The dormitory feels stuffy and heady as Rose lays, staring at the ceiling, her sleeplessness mocked by the easy rest of her roommates. Unruly tendrils of hair escape from her ponytail and stick against the clammy skin of her neck. With a sigh, Rose twists her body out of bed and slips chilled toes into a pair of faded blue slippers. 

She heads down the Common Room steps, picks up someone’s wooly shawl that drapes across the back of an armchair, and wraps the fabric around her chest and shoulders. A gust of frigid air whooshes against her skin, goose flesh rising, even as the entrance portrait swings shut with a soft click. 

Rose wanders through stone corridors, winding a path down through the second floor, letting her feet trace an unknown path until she comes to a halt before the huge doors of the Great Hall. Delicate whorls of flowers and vines shape the entrance, weaving patterns like lace out of the oak panels. The intricate designs make the doors seem beautiful even as they loom over her. 

Placing a palm against a spiral of dragon’s breath, Rose rocks back on her heel then pushes all her weight forward. The door moves a foot forward - providing her with just enough space to squeeze past and into the Hall. Most students have gone home for the holidays, but the remaining staff and students assembled a colossal Christmas Tree at the beginning of the school holiday. Rose stands beneath one of its person-sized boughs, feeling a pleasant joy spread through her body as she lets her eyes rest on a spray of holly. Above her, stars twinkle in the enchanted ceiling and seem to glow against the glass baubles and wreaths of tinsel. 

Rose stands there for so long that she barely notices the dawn break and the starlight fade. She feels a soft pressure against her palm and feels quite dozy when she looks down to identify the source. A milky hand with chewed nails wraps fingers, one by one, around her wrist. Looking up, she sees Pia with a fond look on her face, rolling her eyes as if to indicate how silly Rose is to be out of bed and gawping at a Christmas Tree past the witching hours. 

‘Good morning,’ Pia whispers, her voice quiet as though she’s afraid of breaking Rose’s easy tranquility. ‘You look cold.’ 

Rose squeezes Pia’s hand, quickly, just for a second, then turns back to watch the Christmas decorations shine. ‘Merry Christmas, Pia.’ 

With a gentle sigh, Pia shifts and leans her head against Rose’s shoulder. Rose feels the quick press of Pia’s lips against her collarbone and the sensation lingers against her skin long after they slip away in the earlier hours of the morning and scurry back to their respective dormitories. 

**Author's Note:**

> Shout out to past me for starting this fic off. It was cute to write, so I hope it was cute to read! Any kudos or comments are very much appreciated xx


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